destroyed by madness

today i went to see black swan with a couple of friends. i was pretty impressed by it, the costumes were beautiful, natalie portman was excellent & the whole mood was wonderfully angst-ridden and atmospheric. i would say however that i feel if they had made it slightly longer, it might have been more in depth and, well, dare i say it slightly less pretentious. having said that, i do think it was a brilliant film

while waiting for black swan, i saw a preview for a film called howl - an experimental film about beat poetry in the 1950s, as well as the obscenity trial of allen ginsberg's poem of the same name.

i think it looks so good! a film about what is essentially the rock & roll of literature is clearly up my street. from what i could grasp from the trailer, it seems to be told in non-chronological order, possibly with narration from ginsberg (played by james franco). excellent.

james franco has been one of my favourite actors ever since i saw freaks and geeks - which is an amazing show that not enough people have seen. not to mention he is rather easy on the eye.

the cinematographyness (can you sense my ineptitude at describing films?) looks pretty lovely, & the costumes look amazing.

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon

*

posts for the next week may be a bit sparse, if i have time i shall schedule some posts for when i go away on the london trip, but until then i have some english coursework to finish (finally!) & an interview to prepare for.

adieu.